Out of Bounds
by jeanie2914
Summary: When push comes to shove, Peter and Neal learn some rules are meant to be broken. Just a short snippet set early season one.
1. Chapter 1

_Because Neal can't have all the fun..._

**Out of Bounds-Part One**

It happened so quickly he had no time to react. One minute he and Peter were closing the deal and the next, two large hands hit his chest, shoving him backward.

In his experience, counterfeiters were a paranoid, jumpy bunch, and this guy was no exception. An older man, small in stature, he'd leveled the field by bringing two mammoth bodyguards along with him. They stood on either side of him, intimidatingly mute, as the terms of the exchange were discussed. Something had felt off; there had been a tension in the air that gave Neal an uneasy feeling. But since no one was armed and Jones and Berigan were monitoring and close by, he'd dismissed it.

The unexpected blow made him stumble; he tripped over the low barrier that edged the walkway, falling the six or so feet to the wooden dock below. There was a flash as his head hit the landing and the air was forced from his lungs. He didn't lose consciousness but, dazed, he lay there looking up at the night sky, trying desperately to get air into his lungs. After what felt like forever, he was able to get a shallow breath and then, as his body recovered from the shock of the fall, a more fulfilling one. His chest still felt tight and his body ached but now able to breathe, he looked over to see how Peter had faired. In the split second before he'd fallen, in his peripheral, he'd seen Peter receive a similar blow and tumble over the edge as well.

But not two feet away from where he'd landed, the dark water of the Hudson lapped against the wooden piles. He had landed on the dock but Peter hadn't; he was in the water. His pain forgotten, Neal rolled over and stumbled to his feet. He searched the water but saw nothing but light reflecting on its ripples. There was no sign of Peter. The squeeze of fear intensified the tightness in his chest.

"Peter!" What he'd meant to be a shout came out weak and breathless. _"Peter!"_

He heard pounding feet in the roadway above, a shout of _FBI, Hands in the air_ then more shouts and intermingled voices. Diana and Clinton had moved in and were rounding up the counterfeiter and his companions. But they didn't know what was happening here by the Hudson. They didn't know Peter was in trouble. Each passing second in the icy water diminished Peter's chances of survival. Had he hit his head in the fall? Was he even conscious enough to fight against the dark water? Neal dropped his coat to the dock, and hastily kicked off his shoes. He was about to dive in when Peter's head broke the surface. Neal heard an audible gasp, then splashing as Peter clawed at the water, desperate to keep his head up. Beyond relieved, Neal crouched down and extended his hand.

"Grab my hand!" His voice still had little carrying power, and with all the thrashing about, Peter hadn't heard him. "Peter!" he cried again, stretching out even further, "_Please!" _Peter was just out of his reach._ "_Don't make me jump in there to get you."

This time Peter heard him and Neal saw his desperation as he flung a hand in his direction. Neal grabbed it, but it was wet and cold and he couldn't hold on. Peter sank beneath the surface. A moment later, he re-emerged, coughing and sputtering, his face almost immediately dropping again beneath the lapping water. But his flailing had brought him a few inches closer to the dock. Neal's outstretched fingers curled around the thick material of Peter's jacket, and with a grunt of effort, he pulled his friend alongside the pier.

Peter, still choking on the dirty river water, made a weak effort to hoist himself onto the dock but was unable to do so. Neal grabbed the back of his coat and pulled. Peter wasn't a small man, and with the added weight of his water-logged clothing, Neal struggled to get him out of the water. He tugged and strained with both hands, releasing one grip on Peter's coat to get another until he finally managed to pull him onto the dock. Peter was coughing violently. Hoping it would help clear his lungs, Neal rolled him to his side. A moment later, the intense coughing turned into retching as Peter expelled not only some of the Hudson River he'd swallowed during his ordeal but also the contents of his stomach.

"It's okay," Neal panted, trying to reassure himself as much as Peter.

For a couple of terrifying moments, he thought he'd lost him. He prided himself on his versatility, his ability to overcome, but a life without Peter Burke wasn't something he could accept. More than once over the past weeks Mozzie had expressed concern over what he saw as a growing attachment to the Suit. Though Mozzie had been (and continued to be) appalled at the thought of Neal using his skills to assist the enemy, he did recognize the benefit of his doing so. Mozzie was a full proponent of "the ends justify the means" and "necessary evils" and serving a sentence wearing a tracking device and a two-mile radius beat a cell in Maximum Security any day. But Mozzie had begun to suspect the relationship, at least on Neal's side, was becoming more than just a means to an end. He'd said as much, citing terms such as Stockholm Syndrome and warning Neal that losing sight of the reality of his situation was unwise. The relationship between him and the Suit was an arrangement, not a friendship, and that was all it could ever be. Neal had assured Mozzie that he was no fool and he knew what he was doing. Keeping Peter happy, healthy, and employed with the FBI kept him happy, healthy, and out of prison. That was all there was to it. It wasn't _personal,_ it was pragmatic.

But when he'd looked out across the murky waters of the river and Peter was nowhere to be seen, the wave of fear that gripped him had nothing to do with pragmatism or job security.

He placed a shaky hand on Peter's straining back. "You're okay, Peter," he continued, still out of breath himself, "just take... it easy."

Having cleared his bronchial tubes, Peter rolled again to his back, his chest heaving. He met Neal's eyes with weak, grateful ones and tried to speak but it caused another bout of raw, painful coughing. Again, Neal helped him roll to his side, pounding his back firmly with the palm of his hand.

"Don't try... to talk, Peter," Neal told him. "Just...breathe." It was advice he was trying to take himself.

When the coughing fit passed, Peter again rolled to his back, his body beginning to shake violently. Neal was shivering too but at least he, for the most part, was dry. Peter had been submerged in the river and was soaked to the bone. Neal grabbed his discarded coat and spread it over Peter but knew it would do little good. Wet and in subfreezing air, Peter was losing body heat at an alarming rate. He needed out of his wet clothes and someplace warm. Neal didn't know if Peter would be able to walk, and by himself, he wasn't sure he could get him back up the metal stairs to the roadway.

He needed help. He glanced up. He could see the flashing of blue lights on the building above them, still hear voices from the wrap up above.

Where the hell was Jones and Diana?

Unwilling to wait any longer for reinforcements, Neal slipped a hand behind Peter's back. "We need to... get somewhere warm, Peter," he said, raising him into a sitting position. "Can you stand?"

Though his nod was nearly indistinguishable due to his shaking, Neal saw affirmation in Peter's eyes. He tried to rise but Neal held him back.

"Hang on," he said, removing the coat he'd covered him with and draping it over his shoulders instead. It wasn't much, but it provided some protection. The wind coming off the water cut like a knife. "Okay," he said, wrapping his arm beneath Peter's to get some leverage. "Let's go."

A moment later, he had Peter on his feet. With Peter leaning heavily on him, Neal started up the dock towards the stairs. Peter's feet shuffled along the wooden boards, each step taking longer than the one before.

"Come on, Peter," Neal urged as their progress grew slower and slower. "Just a...little further."

They were almost to the stairs when Diana appeared on the walkway above them.

"Are you guys-" The question was truncated at the sight of them. "What happened?" She hurried to meet them.

"He...went...in the water." Neal had never really gotten a good breath since the fall, and with the added exertion of lugging Peter up the dock, it was hard to speak. "He nearly...drown. He needs," he continued haltingly, "to get...warm."

"Jones," Diana spoke into her two-way as she quickly moved to the metal stairway. "Peter took a dunk in the river." She descended the stairs and came down the dock to meet them. "We need medical out here." She came alongside and wrapped an arm around Peter's waist, feeling first hand the violent tremors that were shaking him. "Get a blanket from one of the officers and get down here," she ordered. "Get two," she added, looking at him across Peter's sagging head. "Caffrey needs one, too."

"I'm fine," he protested, still out of breath. "Peter's...the one...who-"

"It's freezing out here, Caffrey," Diana cut in. "You don't have your coat and you're nose is bleeding._"_

A bleeding nose was news to him. He thought the moisture on his face was a mix of water spray and sweat.

Hearing Diana's voice, Peter turned his head slightly in her direction.

"It's okay, boss," Diana's voice was low. "We'll have you out of here in a minute."

They'd made it to the bottom of the stairs. Looking up the steep incline, Neal was glad Diana was there. His muscles were quivering and each breath sent a sharp pain through his chest. He'd have never gotten Peter to the top by himself.

"Stairs, Peter," Neal informed as Peter's feet shuffled slowly. "You gotta...step _up_." At his urging, Peter managed to raise a foot a few inches. "A little... more," Neal encouraged. "That's...it."

It was slow progress, but with one of them on each side and continued encouragement, they got Peter up the stairs to the roadway.

Jones hurried to meet them, requested blankets in tow.

"Medical is a minute out." He thrust one blanket towards Neal and quickly draped the other across Peter's shoulders.

"Where...where is..." Peter tried to speak but had trouble getting the words out. "Did...we," he continued, his shivering lips uncooperative, "did we get...him?"

His speech was halting and disjointed, but despite being soaked to the bone and in sub-freezing weather, Peter was still focused on the operation. White Collar was not just his job; it was his life. It was impossible to separate the man from the agent or the agent from the man. It was a fact that complicated things as far as Neal was concerned; it was easy to take Peter's appreciation of what he could do as something he wanted a lot more. Mozzie, of course, continually reminded him of the dangers of confusing the two.

"Yeah, boss," Jones replied. "We got Daniels and his associates. And recovered the plates _and_ the cash."

Neal hadn't thought about either of those things; the only thing on his mind had been Peter. He could hear sirens and see the blue and red lights approaching.

"Good," Peter said between clenched teeth. "Where's... Neal?"

"He's here, boss," Jones informed before Neal could answer for himself. "Don't worry," he added, pulling the tracking device from his coat pocket. "I have his anklet right here."

The anklet's return always followed an undercover operation but for a moment Neal had thought Peter was actually worried about him and not his whereabouts. He felt his face grow warm despite the cold as Jones squatted down to reattach the electronic sign of servitude.

Peter's eyes, a bit clearer and sharper than they'd been moments before, fixed on his.

"Thanks...Neal," he stuttered, his hair still dripping with river water. "If you... hadn't pulled-" he stopped, peering more closely. "You...you're _bleeding_."

"I'm fine." Neal used his sleeve to wipe away any evidence to the contrary. "Just got...," the tightness in his chest, coupled with his shivering, was affecting his speech, "banged up... a little."

"Where are your _shoes_, Caffrey?"

At Jones' question, their exchange stopped, and everyone looked down.

"Oh," Neal answered, gazing at his socked feet. "I...guess I left...them on...the dock."

When he raised his eyes, he found both Peter and Diana peering at him oddly.

"Good grief, Neal," Diana snapped impatiently. "No coat and no _shoes_?" She pulled the blanket from his arm. "Don't just stand there _holding_ it," she scolded, wrapping it around his shoulders. "_Use_ it."

The gesture of concern warmed him more than the blanket and, though it provided some protection from the icy wind, Neal's shivering continued. Knowing any response would be broken and halted due to his chattering teeth, he elected to nod his thanks instead of verbalizing them.

Just as Jones rose from his task, the promised medical support arrived. The siren had been cut but the lights continued to flash as the unit stopped behind them. Two paramedics exited the vehicle. Diana met them and gave a quick rundown of the situation, nodding at the edge of the walkway where the incident had occurred.

"Agent Burke went in the water and Mr. Caffrey landed on the dock."

"How long ago?" The first medic asked, giving Neal a cursory glance before turning his attention to Peter.

"Ten minutes," Diana supplied.

Neal found it hard to believe it had only been ten minutes.

The medic peered at Peter's pale face and bluing lips. "How are you doing, Agent Burke?"

"Been...bet...better," Peter, like Neal, had a hard time speaking, "but...been... wo...worse, too."

The man nodded in understanding. "Let's see about getting you warmed up."

The medic placed a supportive arm around Peter's waist. Muscles stiffened by the cold, Peter moved slowly across the asphalt to the unit. Neal protested when the second medic directed him to the unit as well.

"I'm..._fine_," he insisted for the third time. "Just need...to," he clenched teeth, "..get my shoes...and get out...of the wind."

"Are you declining medical treatment, Mr. Caffrey?"

"No, he _isn't,_" Diana announced firmly, her look telling Neal further protest was futile.

Dutifully, he did as he was told and accompanied the medic to the back of the rig. Peter was already inside and being eased down onto the gurney.

"Right up there, Mr. Caffrey," the medic instructed him. "Have a seat and let's have a look at you."

Motivated by a jabbing pain, he pressed his arm against his side and stepped up into the unit and sat down on the narrow, padded bench. The medic followed, pulling the door closed behind him. Four people made for close quarters; it reminded Neal of the surveillance van but at least it smelled better.

"Your nose is bleeding," the medic stated, digging in one of the compartments along the side of the unit. "Did someone hit you or did it happen in the fall?"

Neal was only half listening as he watched the other medic minister to Peter. Both his coat and Jones' blanket had been discarded and the medic was now helping Peter out of his soaked overcoat. Peter was silent, his movements slow and clumsy.

"Mr. _Caffrey_?" Neal pulled his attention from Peter's ashen face and focused on the more robust one in front of him. "Did someone hit you?" the man repeated, kneeling in front of him.

"No," Neal replied. "He just shoved me."

Again his attention was on Peter. He was now on his back, his remaining clothes being cut away by a large pair of shears.

"Did you hit your head in the fall?" The medic's fingers probed his head and Neal flinched when they came in contact with what he guessed was a large pump knot. "Are you in any pain?" the medic continued, fingers now moving down to his neck. "Headache, neck pain, shoulder or back pain?"

Reasoning the pain he was currently feeling in all those areas would be remedied once he could get a hot shower, Neal gestured the negative with a slight shake of the head.

"Did you blackout or lose consciousness?" Again, Neal opted for a negative non-verbal response.

Across from him, Peter was being covered with a large, silver blanket. His eyes were closed and his face unnaturally pale.

"Is he...gonna be...okay?" Neal asked in concern.

"He's going to be fine, Mr. Caffrey, my partner is taking good care of him. Can you look at me, please?" Neal complied. A moment later, a beam of light was directed first in one pupil and then the other. "Are you lightheaded or nauseous?" Again, Neal shook his head. The medic repeated the process.

"Okay," the medic said, switching the penlight for a stethoscope. He quickly unbuttoned Neal's shirt, exposing his chest. "Let's have a listen."

He pressed the instrument to his chest, listened intently, readjusted the position, and listened again.

"Any problems breathing?" the medic asked him, moving the scope yet again. "Shortness of breath?"

Neal knew his shallow breaths needed explanation. "The fall just...knocked... the breath out... of me. That's...all."

"Can you take a deep breath for me?" Neal tried to comply with the request but winced when the pain in his chest sharpened. "Does that hurt?"

"A _little_." There was no point in denying it now.

The medic began to press against his ribcage, moving his fingers along his side from top to bottom. When he repeated the action on the right side, Neal was unable to stop the quick intake of breath.

"Looks like a possible concussion and some rib damage, Mr. Caffrey. Easy, now." Deftly, the medic swept his feet up onto the bench and a moment later, Neal, too, was on his back and being strapped into place. "You ready to roll, Mark?"

"Yeah," the other medic replied, making sure his patient was secure as well. "We're good to go."

Neal's medic climbed into the driver's seat and the other fastened himself into a swivel chair. A minute later, they were moving. Neal heard the driver call in, giving a quick rundown of their conditions and an ETA of six minutes. Peter was suffering mild hypothermia but was in good condition.

Neal turned his head and was surprised to find Peter's eyes open and looking at him.

"You okay?" His voice was hoarse.

"Yeah, just got a few... bumps and bruises...that's all." It had already been hard to speak and being on his back made it more difficult. "How about you?"

"I'm okay, too, thanks to you." Peter regarded him thoughtfully. "You would've jumped in, wouldn't you?" His tone was incredulous. "If I hadn't come up?"

Neal remembered the panic he'd felt when he'd looked out at the water. It was only seconds before Peter's head had broken the surface, but in those seconds, Neal realized how much he meant to him. It wasn't about their arrangement or how it benefited him. It was about Peter, not the agent but the man. He _would_ have jumped in; he would have gotten Peter out or died trying. It was as simple as that.

Mozzie was right, he had let things get personal and he'd crossed a line Peter never would. There were rules about the interaction between handlers and their assets and Peter was a stickler for the rules. Peter didn't know and didn't need to know how he felt about him. It was better that way, _safer._

"But you _did_ come up." His voice was low.

"And you pulled me outta the water," Peter said quietly. "You saved my life, Neal." The words hung in the small space. "_Thank you_."

The sincerity of his words caused Neal's throat to tighten and his eyes began to sting. Afraid he was about to betray himself he looked away, fixing his now blurry vision on the ceiling above. He felt tears spill over and trail down the side of his face. He hoped to God Peter couldn't see them. He swallowed hard and managed to reply.

"You're welcome, Peter."


	2. Chapter 2

_A minor change of plans. This is going to be more than a two-part story. _

**Out of Bounds: Part Two**

Peter knew he had been lucky. He hadn't been in the water long enough for his body temperature to drastically drop and the exertion of getting back to the roadway had helped warm him as well. Add to that Neal's coat, the blanket Jones had given him, and the fast arrival of medical support, and he'd gotten through the incident with only a mild case of hypothermia. Once inside the unit, he'd been stripped of his wet clothes and wrapped in a warm blanket; he'd almost immediately began to feel better.

Neal, on the other hand, hadn't been so fortunate. Once the danger of their situation had passed and his body stopped pumping out adrenaline, he'd began to feel the effects of his injuries. He'd felt worse during the trip in, not better. When they reached Mount Sinai Medical, he was given an IV and oxygen and rolled into observation. Neal, wrapped in a warm blanket with an oxygen mask covering his pale face, was rolled to radiology to determine the extent of his injuries. He hadn't seen Neal since but he had gotten an update on his condition from staff; a suspected concussion and fractured ribs. Peter hated Neal had been hurt on the job, and under his watch, and he knew Neal's actions after the fall had likely exacerbated his injuries.

He thought back to the events of the evening, not as much the final moments of the operation but how Neal had chosen to respond to them. Neal had pulled him out of the water and he was grateful for it but most anyone would have done the same thing. It was what Neal had been _prepared_ to do that gave Peter cause for reflexion. Jumping into the river would have been suicide, Neal wouldn't have lasted more than a minute in the frigid water, yet that was what he'd been about to do. Peter knew Neal could be reckless and impulsive at times but not with his life; his instincts of self-preservation were too strong. But today, for some reason, he'd been ready to disregard them. It was that and the implications behind it Peter found himself pondering as he waited on Elizabeth to arrive.

He had called as soon as he was settled in a room, told her where he was and what had happened, and asked her to bring him some clothes. She arrived less than a half-hour later and though he'd assured her he was alright, her face was still stamped with worry.

"Hey, hon," he greeted as she entered the room. "Sorry to get you out like this. I know its freezing out there."

"Don't be silly," she replied, dropping the clothes he'd requested onto the chair and hurrying to him. "At least I didn't go for a swim in the Hudson." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. "I'm just glad you're okay." She straightened and studied him intently. "You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," he assured her with a grin. "In fact, they'll be letting me out of here in about twenty minutes."

"What _happened_?" she asked, slipping off her scarf and coat and tossing them across the foot of his bed. "How did you end up in the river?"

He'd given her only the basic facts over the phone so now he took the time to recount the events in more detail. There really wasn't much to tell. Everything had gone according to plan up until the moment they hadn't and he found himself surrounded by cold, dark water, fighting desperately to find the surface.

"Bet you'll never hear the end of _that,_" she mused when he told her Neal had pulled him out. "Where is he, anyway?" she asked. "Did you send him home?'

"No, he's here," Peter answered. "He's got fractured ribs and a concussion. We _both_ went over, El," he explained at her look of confusion."I hit the water; Neal hit the _dock_."

"Oh," she said, the humor leaving her eyes. "I didn't know he fell too." She frowned. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Should be," Peter replied. He then proceeded to repeat what he'd been told. "The concussion was a mild one and there were no internal injuries. He's gonna have a headache and be sore for a few days but he'll recover."

"Broken ribs and a concussion," she remarked. "It's a wonder he was _able_ to pull you out."

It truly had been. He'd broken his ribs his senior year in college and just getting up from a chair had been a painful undertaking. Neal had not only wrestled him out of the water, but he'd also gotten him to his feet and half carried him back to the roadway. He had to have been in a lot of pain but he hadn't let it deter him.

"I know," he admitted. "And if he hadn't grabbed me when he did.." He paused, remembering being in the water, his strength gone and his muscles too frozen to fight any longer. He'd thought that was it, that he was lost, but just as the water had covered his face, he felt Neal grab his coat. "I would've drowned, El," he told her, his throat tightening. "He saved my life."

The realization of how close he'd come to dying hit him hard; a lump rose in his throat and tears filled his eyes. Seeing his distress, Elizabeth leaned down, wrapping him in her arms.

"Then thank God he was there," she said quietly in his ear.

Peter let her hold him, feeling her warm breath on his neck, for several minutes. The contact grounded him and soon he felt in control of his emotions once more.

They'd just disengaged when there was a knock at the door. It was Diana.

"Sorry, boss," she said, realizing she'd interrupted a private moment. She gave Elizabeth a nod of greeting before addressing him. "Agent Jones is handling the processing, sir," she explained as she entered, "so I came to bring your things from the van. I thought you might need them." She moved across the room and placed a bag on the bedside table. It would contain his phone, keys, wallet, and credentials. It also held his weapons. "You look better than you did, sir," she remarked. "How are you feeling?"

"_Better_ than I did," Peter answered, his voice husky. "They should be letting me out of here soon." He nodded at the bag she still held. "Is that Neal's things?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "And I got his shoes, too."

"His shoes?" Elizabeth echoed. "Why did he leave his _shoes_ in the van?"

"He didn't," Diana answered before meeting his eyes. She understood the significance of what Neal had been about to do as well as he did "He left them on the dock."

Elizabeth shifted her gaze from Diana to him, her brow furrowed in question.

"He was about to jump in after me, El," he explained, still confused and humbled by what Neal's had intended to do. "Thank goodness I came up and he was able to grab me or we would have both drowned."

"He did pull you out, Boss," Diana reminded him, "and you know what _that_ means." There was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "He's gonna say you_ owe_ him."

"He does owe him," Elizabeth pointed out before Peter could respond. "We _both_ do."

"Maybe so," Diana allowed, "but I'll bet owing Caffrey's a lot like owing a loan shark; the interest alone will be astronomical."

"Yeah," Peter chuckled, "but on the bright side, he's not likely to break my legs if I get behind on my payments."

"They'll be no living with him now, that's for sure," Diana said with resignation. She held up the bag of Neal's things. "Want me to take this to him?"

"No," Peter answered. "I'll do it. I need to check on him anyway. Thanks for bringing them by, Diana."

"Not a problem, sir." She placed Neal's bag beside Peter's. "See you on Monday?"

"Tomorrow," Peter corrected. It was only Thursday and the paperwork on this case was going to be massive.

"_Monday_," Elizabeth re-corrected, sending him a stern look. "He'll see you on _Monday_."

Peter knew better than to argue so he didn't.

Diana grinned. "Monday then."


	3. Chapter 3

_Short, I know, but it is what it is. And more is coming, I promise!_

**Out of Bounds-Part Three**

"If you experience any of the symptoms we discussed," the doctor directed, "difficulty breathing, fever, chills, or chest pains, you'll need to come back here. Otherwise, go home, get some rest, and check with your primary next week if you have any problems." He handed Peter the clipboard, placing a finger near the bottom where his signature was required. "Do you have any questions for me, Agent Burke?"

"Yeah," Peter said, signing the document. "How's Neal?"

Peter had spoken to the doctor about Neal upon arrival. He'd had to explain the tracking device, and he'd wanted to make sure staff knew Neal wasn't a violent criminal but was a valuable member of his team who'd been injured on the job. He'd also told the doctor Neal had been the one to pull him from the water. He hadn't used the term heroic but it had been heavily implied. Neal deserved respect, not disdain, and Peter had said as much. The doctor had since been good about keeping Peter apprised of Neal's condition.

"He's still experiencing some discomfort," the doctor informed them, "but he's doing a lot better now that his nausea is under control."

That had started on the ride in; one minute Neal had been fine, the next he wasn't. The medic had left his seat, blocking Neal from view but Peter heard enough to know what was happening. Not just the disturbing sound of retching, but the medic's ministrations as well. Peter knew it had been an ongoing problem and was glad Neal had gotten some relief. Nausea was common after a head injury but as the medic had explained, given the condition of Neal's ribs, vomiting wasn't just painful; it was dangerous as well.

"When do you think he'll be able to go home?" Peter handed back the clipboard.

"He thinks he's able _now, _but I'm not comfortable with that," the doctor told him. "I'd like to keep him tonight to give these symptoms time to ease up a bit. The nausea has subsided but his equilibrium is still off. A fall right now could be a real problem."

Did Neal really believe he was able to handle the stairs to his apartment right now? And what if something happened? What if he fell? June was visiting Cindy; there would be no one to call if he got into trouble.

"Keep him, then." Peter agreed with the doctor, Neal staying was the best course of action.

"I can strongly _advise_ him to stay, Agent Burke," the man explained patiently, "but I can't force him. If he decides to leave AMA, that's his right; I can't stop him."

"You might can't stop him but I can," Peter stated firmly. "I'll tell him it's not up for discussion; he's staying until you say he can go."

The declaration of his intent brought a look of mild surprise from the doctor and one of less-then-mild disapproval from Elizabeth.

"It's my job to make sure Neal does what he's supposed to do," he explained to justify the arguably authoritarian statement. "So if you think he needs to stay overnight, then he needs to stay. Simple as that."

"Well, that's between you and Mr. Caffrey," the doctor replied, unclipping a copy of the discharge instructions. "You are good to go, Agent Burke." He handed him the papers as well as a copy of the form he'd just signed. "If you have any questions, give us a call."

Once the doctor left them, Peter gathered up his things and made ready to leave.

"You aren't going to _order_ him to stay, are you?" Elizabeth asked when he picked up Neal's things.

"You heard what the doctor said," Peter answered. "Just because Neal wants to go home doesn't mean that's what's best for him."

"Maybe not, but you should talk to him about it," she admonished, "not just issue an order. He deserves better than that."

"I will talk to him but if he insists on leaving, well, I can't let him do that." It had been a long day. He just wanted to go home and rest but he wouldn't be able to if he was worried about Neal. "I just want him to be okay, El," he finished wearily.

Her eyes softened. "I know you do," she assured him. "But you need to tell him that, Peter. Don't tell him what to do," she added. "Tell him you _care_. I think you'll find he'll respond much better to that."

His instinct had been to take the direct approach, to make his expectations clear and leave no room for discussion. That was the job, the way an asset was handled. But this wasn't the office; it was a hospital and Neal wasn't just his asset, he was the man who'd saved his life.

As usual, Elizabeth was right. Neal deserved better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Out of Bounds-Part Four**

Peter stopped in the doorway of an observation room almost exactly like the one he'd recently occupied. Across from him, wearing a pale green gown two sizes too big for him, Neal was reclining against the elevated head of the bed with his eyes closed. He hesitated, uncertain as to whether he should disturb Neal or let him be.

He'd always thought Neal's attention to his appearance, his expensive suits and meticulous grooming habits were just vanities. But seeing him now, without his usual trappings, made him wonder if there wasn't a more practical reason for his efforts. Neal, his face pale and hair disheveled, looked a decade younger than he was. Or at least a decade younger than he _claimed_ to be; Peter wasn't sure how old Neal was. Documentation was scarce and considering Neal's skills as a forger, what Peter had been able to locate wasn't above suspicion. But there were a lot of things he didn't know about Neal: where he'd been before coming to New York, what he'd been doing before coming to New York, and most of all, _who_ he'd been before coming to New York. He was fairly certain Neal Caffrey was as much an alias as Nick Halden. With so many unknowns, Neal's actual age was among the least of them.

"Oh, Peter," Elizabeth breathed softly at his side. "He looks so _young_."

Peter had seen Neal win people over with his charm, quick wit, and confident smile; as a conman, it was his bread and butter. But even uncrafted and unintended, this presentation was equally powerful. The combination of youthfulness and vulnerability was very effective. If Elizabeth wasn't already on Team Neal, she certainly would be so now.

While he was standing there marveling at Neal's ability to make allies even in an unconscious state, the young man opened his eyes.

"Hey, Neal," Peter greeted as he approached him.

"Hey, Peter." Neal's voice was hoarse. "Elizabeth. Nice look," he added after giving him a quick once over. Jeans and sweatshirts were not standard FBI attire. "I take it they're letting you go home."

"Yeah, they are," Peter confirmed. "I just wanted to check on you before I left. Plus," he continued, placing the bag of belongings on the table beside the bed. "Diana brought these by. Your phone, wallet and keys are all in there." He met Neal's eyes before listing the last item. "So are your shoes."

Peter wasn't sure what flashed in Neal's eyes, it almost looked like apprehension, but at that moment Elizabeth leaned down, blocking him from view. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "That's for saving my hubby,"

When she rose, any expression that had been there had been replaced with embarrassment.

"It wasn't anything as heroic as _that," _he mumbled, his flushed face making him appear younger than he had before.

"Well, I disagree," Elizabeth countered firmly. "I think what you did was _very_ heroic."

Surprising, Neal seemed more uncomfortable than pleased with Elizabeth's words of praise. "I just helped him out of the water."

Like Diana and Elizabeth, Peter expected Neal to jump on the opportunity to bask in what, in this instance, was well deserved praise but instead he was brushing it aside. He'd responded similarly in the back of the unit but given the circumstances, Peter had dismissed it. Yet the uncharacteristic humility prevailed. Neal did have a concussion, Peter reminded himself. Maybe that was the reason for his atypical behavior.

"You did more than just that," Elizabeth insisted. "You saved his life, Neal. He_ told_ me." At that, Neal glanced at him, the color still high in his cheeks. Elizabeth covered one of his hands with her own. "_Thank you_."

"Anyone would have-" Neal again started to downplay his actions but stopped when Peter sent him a look of warning. He swallowed, then directed his gaze to Elizabeth. "You're welcome, Elizabeth."

"That's better," she responded, pleased he'd finally accepted her thanks. "Now that's out of the way, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Neal answered, "but I'll be a lot better when I get home."

It was his turn to receive a silent look of warning. _Talk to him,_ Elizabeth's expression said, _don't order him._

"I'm sure you'll go home tomorrow," he ventured. "I think they want to let you rest here tonight."

Neal's eyes flew to his face. As expected, he wasn't pleased.

"I can't rest here, Peter," he protested. "This place is like a madhouse. It's too loud; it's killing my head."

"That's probably more the concussion than the noise, Neal," Peter pointed out. "Your heads gonna hurt no matter where you are."

"It'll hurt less at _home,"_ Neal insisted. "Talk to them, Peter," he petitioned. "Tell them I'll be okay at my apartment; if I need anything, I'll call June."

Peter was more certain than before the knock on Neal's head was affecting his thought processes. He'd forgotten he'd told him about June's trip.

"Isn't June visiting her daughter?"

"Oh." Neal looked at a loss as he realized his error. "Yeah. But I can still _call_ her."

"She's not going to be able to do much for you from _Florida_, Neal," Peter remarked dryly.

"Then I'll call Mozzie," Neal retorted defensively. "Or dial 911. Really," he pressed. "I'll be fine."

Seeing Neal's frustration beginning to rise, Peter tried to defuse it.

"I know you want to go home," he said, "but the doctor thinks you need to stay, just to be safe."

"He's making a big deal out of nothing," Neal argued. "It's just a bump on the head."

Neal wasn't making it easy. He hoped Elizabeth appreciated his patience, which, to be honest, was starting to wear thin.

"A concussion and three broken ribs is a little more than a bump on the head, Neal."

"Good _grief!_" Neal's frustration gave way to irritation. "I've been hurt worse than this and went to_ school_ the next day."

The statement rang in the room, catching Peter by surprise. He'd wondered about Neal's early years and what had led him into a life of crime at such a young age but he'd never gotten answers. There were no records to be found and Neal never spoke about it. And he hadn't meant to speak of it now; it had been a slip and a revealing one at that. A concussed Neal Caffrey might be a more forthcoming one but the second the words left his mouth his eyes widened in alarm.

"I'm sorry," he said, glancing quickly from one surprised face to the other and back again. "I didn't mean to say..._to snap,_" he amended quickly, his cheeks now flaming red, "at you like that. I'm just..tired, that's all." He sank into the bed, a forlorn look on his face. "And I _hate_ hospitals."

"It's okay," Peter answered, still processing what Neal had inadvertently revealed about his past. "It's been a long day. The doctor's just worried about you being on your own tonight and frankly so am I."

"Why can't he just stay with us?" Elizabeth asked suddenly. "We have an extra bedroom."

Peter wasn't sure who was more surprised by her suggestion, him or Neal.

He felt for Neal's situation, he hated hospitals as well, but it wasn't like Neal was an acquaintance. He wasn't even a co-worker; he was a CI. A convicted felon on work release. They couldn't just invite him to stay in their home. That would be crossing a line the Bureau would certainly frown upon.

But he understood why Elizabeth was making the offer. She had a way of seeing the best in people and she'd liked Neal from the moment she'd met him. She believed in spite of his questionable choices that he was a good person at heart. Peter agreed with her, Neal was a good person. If he hadn't been he'd never agreed to let him work out his time with the FBI. He liked Neal, he was a hard person not to like, but their relationship had to stay_ professional._ Those up the food chain were watching them closely. He'd been warned, one bungled case, one wrong move or perceived conflict of interest and the Bureau would pull the plug on their arrangement.

He couldn't let that happened. He couldn't let them send Neal back to prison for three years. He had to make sure everything he did, every decision he made in regard to Neal Caffrey was strictly by the book and above reproach.

Of course, Neal _had_ been injured while working for the Bureau and, as his handler, it _was_ his responsibility to make sure he received proper care. If Neal was determined to leave, the hospital couldn't force him to stay. And at his apartment, he would be on his own. Wasn't this a better option? Better management of a valuable bureau asset?

It was a stretch, he knew, but he could make the argument if he had to.

Plus, Neal _had_ saved his life. Elizabeth was right. He owed him.

"I think that's a good idea."

Elizabeth beamed at his words but Neal's expression was one of total disbelief. "You _do?_"

It clearly wasn't the response he'd expected to hear. Neal didn't want to stay in the hospital but he didn't seem thrilled with the alternate arrangement, either. Peter was surprised; Neal usually jumped at any opportunity to visit the Burke house, chat up his wife and pet his dog. But he wasn't jumping at this one. Instead, he looked rattled by the prospect. His frame had tensed and he'd pulled the blanket up just a bit higher. It was defensive posturing, indicative of someone in danger or at risk. It seemed out of place and out of character until he remembered Neal's earlier comment. The one he hadn't meant to say.

Neal had slipped up. He'd said something about his past he never would have under normal circumstances. Was that why he was reluctant to accept Elizabeth's offer? Was he afraid he might say something else? Neal's life before New York was a mystery Peter had been unable to solve and he had to admit, the thought of gleaning information about it from Neal was enticing. But taking advantage of his current mental state would be wrong, not to mention a poor way of repaying him for saving his life.

"Yeah I do," Peter confirmed, convinced he was making the right choice. "You don't want to stay here and staying by yourself isn't an option so," he gave a shrug of feinted nonchalance, "coming to the house makes sense."

Neal still looked baffled. "But it's your _home_, I don't think I should...I mean, I don't want to...to i_ntrude_."

Neal had intruded in his home any number of times and it hadn't bothered him in the least. But this was different. FBI handlers didn't invite their assets to their homes to convalesce; it simply wasn't done and Neal knew it. But Peter knew an asset willing to risk his life for his handler was equally out of the ordinary. Today they were both operating out of bounds, pushing boundaries and crossing lines.

"It's not intruding," Peter told him. "And it's just for the night. If everything goes okay, I'll take you home tomorrow. What do you say?"

"Well," Neal said doubtfully. "I guess..." he looked from one of them to the other. "I mean if you're both _sure_-"

Pleased to see his resistance crumbling, Elizabeth didn't wait for Neal to finish. "Of course we're sure!"

Her look of triumph made Peter wonder if this had been her plan all along and a moment later, after announcing her intent to secure Neal's release, Elizabeth was out the door. Peter pitied anyone who tried to dissuade her from her mission.

"I know she put you on the spot, Peter," Neal noted once she'd cleared the room. "I can tell her I've changed my mind."

It seemed a generous gesture but Peter had to wonder; was he looking for a way out?

"Have you?" Peter asked with a frown. "Changed your mind?"

Neal's look was one of uncertainly as if he wasn't sure what Peter wanted him to say.

"I can if you need me to," he hedged. "I know agents aren't allowed to you know, _fraternize_ with me outside work."

There were rules that governed the relationship between agents and their informants. Some were written, some were implied, but he'd stressed to Neal from day one that all had to be followed to the letter. He'd cited the one prohibiting associations outside of work several times in response to Neal's request to have him or another agent accompany him to some gala opening or new exhibit outside his radius. Neal could always come up with some counter, some loophole, to circumvent the rule but Peter always held firm. It was strange that for the moment at least, they seemed to be switching roles.

"We're not catching a Broadway show, Neal," he pointed out. "This is pure practically. You don't want to stay here and I don't want to have to worry about you doing something stupid so it's a win-win."

Neal apparently accepted his reasoning and thus, Elizabeth's invitation, because he began to shift on the bed.

"I don't _do_ stupid, Peter," Neal asserted, wincing as he righted himself in the bed. "Unconventional, sure," A grunt as he swung his blanket-covered legs over the edge of the bed, "ill-advised, maybe," he continued, "but stupid? _Never. _Can you check that closet?" Neal indicated where with a nod. "I think they put my clothes in there."

"I don't know," Peter remarked as he opened the door and removed the less than tidy bundle of clothes from a shelf. "Jumping into the river tonight would have been stupid."

He'd vowed not to exploit Neal's diminished capacity but he couldn't help himself. Neal's actions, or intended actions, still baffled him. It would have been reckless and foolish but Peter knew it wouldn't have impulsive. There had been a thought process involved; Neal's discarded shoes were evidence of it.

"I didn't jump into the river."

"But you were about to," Peter reminded him as he returned, clothes in hand. "That's why you took off your shoes." He placed the bundle on the bed, then looked at Neal. "What were you thinking?"

It wasn't posed critically, it was posed earnestly, and Neal seemed startled by it.

"I was thinking I didn't want to ruin a three hundred dollar pair of shoes," he said after a moment of hesitation.

Purposely misunderstanding a question was an evasive tactic and Peter responded the way he usually did when Neal employed it; he used his eyebrow to call BS and waited for the truth. Neal caved faster than he usually did.

"I don't know," he admitted, looking away. "Just that I had to find you, to get you out of the water." His voice was strained. "That you couldn't..." he looked up, a pained look on his face. ".._.die like that_."

There was no guile, no deception, no pretense and the intensity of Neal's unfiltered emotion triggered his own. Suddenly Peter found himself choking up, much as he had earlier with Elizabeth. He placed a hand on Neal's shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and hoped Neal could see what he couldn't trust his voice to say; he was grateful.

There was no guile, no deception, no pretense and the intensity of Neal's unfiltered emotion triggered his own. Suddenly Peter found himself choking up, much as he had earlier with Elizabeth. His throat tightened and his eyes stung. He placed a hand on Neal's shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and hoped Neal could see what he couldn't trust his voice to say: he was grateful, not just for what Neal had done but what he'd been willing to do. Neal wasn't the only one with diminished capacities; they were both emotional, both unguarded, and the moment that passed between was profound.

Profound but_ brief._

Neal, cheeks flushed, was the first to break the connection and Peter, feeling the heat rising in his face, followed suit and removed his hand from Neal's shoulders. He needed a minute and figured Neal did as well. He was about to excuse himself under the guise of checking on Elizabeth when she returned.

"Technically, you weren't admitted," she said to Neal as she entered, "so you don't have to be discharged." Picking up something was amiss, she looked at him questioningly. "Everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," he stated, glancing at Neal. "We were just talking about..._shoes._"

Neal looked at him warily and Elizabeth, seeing his reaction and knowing what his left-behind shoes signified, quickly deduced the reason the room had been so emotionally charged when she entered

"I see," she replied. "That's _good_." She shifted a thoughtful gaze to Neal. "I think you two _needed_ to talk about that."

"Yeah, we did," Peter agreed, fixing Neal's eyes with his own. "And he was just about to answer a question for me."

Peter could tell Neal was uncomfortable with both the topic and the attention. "What question?"

Both Elizabeth and Neal were staring at him intently, waiting for him to pose his question, so he did.

"How can you afford three hundred dollar shoes on the Stipend you get from the Bureau?"

The tension snapped. Neal sent him a look of relief, Elizabeth one of exasperation.

"Don't tease him about his shoes, Peter, help him get them on," she directed impatiently, moving towards the door. "They're printing off his paperwork now. As soon as he dressed, they'll go over with him and he'll be free to go." Before stepping into the hall, she turned back to Neal. "You paid three hundred dollars for a pair of _shoes?_"

Even she recognized the frivolity of such a purchase.

"Of course not," Neal replied with a snort. "Peter's right, I can barely stock my pantry with the pittance I get from the FBI. But," he continued, a smile playing on his lips, "I know a guy who knows a guy and he was able to get me a _really_ sweet deal."

It was good to see some levity in Neal's eyes, even if it was coming at his expense. "I bet he did."

"Do you think he could get me a deal on a pair of Wangs?" Elizabeth asked from the door. "He makes an adorable little pump-"

"Enough!" Peter said, holding up both hands. "Do you two want to continue discussing the buying and selling of stolen goods in front of a Federal agent, or do you want to get out of here?"

"I vote for _get out of here_," Neal said sheepishly.

"Good choice."

_The End_

_Square Three: Shaking and Shivering_


End file.
